


You'd Think Such A Tiny Grudge Wouldn't Last Three Years

by NoisyNoiverns



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Gen, Post-Reaper War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 01:22:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6263941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoisyNoiverns/pseuds/NoisyNoiverns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saving the galaxy is fun and all, but there's nothing quite like the afterparty. This one just happens to be three years late. Oh, well, it's not like anybody's still mad about any bizarre shore leave escapades, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	You'd Think Such A Tiny Grudge Wouldn't Last Three Years

**Author's Note:**

> Written on suggestion of the wonderful officialjaneshepard on Tumblr. <3

Shepard couldn’t remember seeing the Presidium quite so… _lively_. When the Council had told her they were throwing a “yay, we didn’t all die horribly” party, she’d expected something more like the society parties she’d attended at Hock’s mansion or the casino. This was more like something out of an old vid about college fraternities, only without the annoying drunk straight boys.

The party took up half a park, with bright, cheerful lights strung throughout the trees. The lake was noisy, with a massive splash every couple of seconds as the salarians played what Shepard would hazard a guess to be some sort of water volleyball. It seemed like just about every species had sent guests- there were turians and krogan lurking around the buffet tables, hanar trying very hard not to let their tentacles smack any volus (voluses? volii? literally just an ‘idk’ noise? Shepard could never remember) in the face, asari and quarians chatting up a storm, and Shepard could have sworn she’d seen a few batarians here and there. There had also been a varren playing in the shallows of the lake, but she was pretty sure that had been a service animal. Just about everybody who was anybody was there, and “anybody” was a pretty wide net in this instance.

She and the rest of the old gang from the _Normandy_ had agreed to meet up later in the evening, but thus far she’d only run into Tali, arguing pros and cons of different drive core models with a snow-white turian woman and an asari on crutches; Joker, looking rather awkward as EDI happily chattered away with a geth prime that, if the bag hanging from their shoulder was any indication, was babysitting the quarian toddler dozing in a sling on their back; Wrex, watching a friendly spar between Han’Gerrel and a muscular batarian, presumably waiting his turn; and Chakwas, trading stories of… doctor things, whatever one called those, in times of scarcity with a female krogan. Liara was there too, she knew, but considering they’d come together, Shepard wasn’t entirely certain that counted.

She was just turning away from the buffet table with a plate piled as high as she dared with food when she heard a call of, “Shepard!” and turned to see Liara and Garrus standing with a cluster of people, some familiar and some not. With an easy grin, she loped over, nodding politely as she approached. “Hey, guys,” she said breezily, taking a bite of food. “Miss me?”

“Believe it or not,” Councilor Sparatus rumbled, “no.”

A smaller female turian next to him smacked his arm. “ _Ierian_ ,” she scolded. “Be _nice_.” She glanced at Shepard and added apologetically, “He’s not the type for parties, but he’s socially obligated to be here. No offense, I hope?”

Shepard held up a hand. “Not at all, Lady Sparatus, no worries. And that dress looks lovely on you, might I add.”

The councilor’s wife hummed, pleased, and Sparatus rolled his eyes. Beside him, a salarian coughed into his fist, and Shepard’s eyes widened as she recognized the markings on his forehead. “Councilor Valern, sir!” she said. “I thought you were still supposed to be in the hospital?”

Nearly unrecognizable out of his usual robes, Valern was draped in a loose, baggy muscle shirt (if it could even be called that, salarians were so stick-thin) and shorts, and had apparently chosen to go barefoot for the occasion. One of his horns had been sawn off at the base, and his skin was laced with faint scars and barely-noticeable color mismatches where skin grafts had grown together like a patchwork quilt; he’d sustained horrific burns in the final stretch of the war, along with several broken bones and retinal detachment. Several of the scars and surrounding tissue still looked a nasty green, probably not entirely done healing yet. If Shepard remembered correctly, all four of his limbs had had to be amputated to some degree, replaced with mechanized prosthetics. Not that you could tell from looking at him- a lot of people with prosthetics these days opted for a covering of artificial skin, to minimize how much they were stared at, and any seams between fake and real Valern might have had were hidden under the meticulously-arranged gold bands a month’s worth of award ceremonies had taught Shepard were a sort of salarian jewelry.

Valern seemed none the worse for wear, though, and he simply shrugged and took a drink of wine. “What the doctors don’t know won’t hurt me. We were just discussing the possibility of Garrus Vakarian’s induction into the Spectres. Thoughts?”

Shepard almost choked on her roll. “When’s the induction?” she managed to get out.

Sparatus started to laugh, but hid it in his drink when his wife looked like she was considering smacking him again. Valern, meanwhile, just gave her one of those withering stares she swore he held the patent on that said he suffered every moment he was in the recipient’s presence. “When the Council reaches a decision, you’ll be first to know.”

On Liara’s other side, Garrus coughed into his fist. “It’s nothing, Shepard, really,” he said, in a tone that said he was trying and only partially succeeding in being modest. “The councilor was just saying it’s overdue, and, well, with my father finally retiring for good…”

Sparatus had barely cracked open his mouth before his wife leveled a manicured talon at him, so close to his nose he had to go cross-eyed to keep it in sight. “Do _not_ start,” she warned, and Shepard could have sworn she heard the gears in the councilor’s head grind to a startled halt.

He shook his head and pulled it back, snapping his mandibles at her. “Start _what?”_ he challenged, moving his head back and forth in some turian gesture Shepard couldn’t read.

“Don’t give me that, we both know you were going to yowl and moan about Alorus Vakarian, I know your speech by _heart_.”

“First, I was not. Second, _you do not_.”

As the couple continued to bicker, Valern turned away, leaning in towards Shepard and her friends conspiratorially. “Notice he didn’t deny he has a speech,” he muttered.

Shepard raised an eyebrow. “How many times have you heard it?”

“Five and three-eighths. One time I managed to cut him off and divert him into the Udina speech. That was an interesting day. He was trying to complain about both at once and his tiny avian brain got confused.”

“Sir, isn’t that a little racist?”

“No,” he and Garrus said at the exact same time, followed immediately by Valern making a face like Garrus had offended his very atomic structure by speaking in unison with him.

Shepard took a moment to give them both a strange look, then shook her head. “I heard some people talking about suing the Council for inaction on the Reaper threat, has anybody been giving you trouble, sir?"

Valern snorted. “What are they smoking, and where can I get some? They have no case.”

Sparatus grunted. “Maybe if they went through-”

“No, no, I went over that act a thousand times as an intern for Dalatrass Taelvan. What about the-”

“Impossible, that one’s airtight. If they-”

“That’s rendered null and void by circumstance. Maybe-”

“Amendments to the law removed that clause.”

While the two lawyers discussed, Shepard looked over at the rest of the group. “This is creepy to everyone else, too, right?”

The councilor’s wife snorted. “This is nothing. You should hear two salarians go at it. I can’t keep up. Oh, Shepard, move over, Cuddles is behind you.”

Shepard blinked and turned to see a rail-thin varren wearing a service animal harness sitting patiently, tongue lolling out of its mouth. As if to emphasize her point, it barked, tail wagging in the grass.

Shepard raised a brow and moved, allowing the varren to get up and trot past. “First, is he yours? Second, Cuddles?”

The councilor’s wife lifted her mandibles in amusement. “Not mine. His.”

She raised a talon to point a short ways away at a tall, long-horned gray salarian, wrapped in an embroidered cloak and talking to a bronze turian. Almost as an afterthought, she raised her voice and called, “Tollak, dear, would you and Adreon mind coming over here, please?”

The pair glanced at her, then the turian loped over obediently, the salarian hobbling after him, leaning heavily on a rather impressively decorated staff. The varren met the salarian halfway, tail wagging furiously for a moment before stilling as it fell into step beside him. The salarian put a hand on the harness, and his gait evened out, now evenly distributing his weight between the varren and the staff.

The councilor’s wife smiled. “Shepard, this is Tollak Madelivio,” she said as the turian reached them. “He’s one of the ambassadors at the embassy. Wonderful young man.”

Tollak’s neck turned faintly blue. “Thank you, ma’am.” He glanced at Valern and Sparatus, who were still debating law. “Is… there something I should know about, ma’am?”

“No, they’re just trying to figure out exactly how much of a non-case people have. Something for fun.”

“Ah.” He bobbed his head, then moved over as the salarian caught up.

Now that he was closer, Shepard could see his face was painted with spots and stripes, over half his face covered in ink. Valern cut off his conversation with Sparatus and dropped into a bow, rattling off something in a closed dialect. The other salarian replied in the same language, and Valern rose, then gestured to him with a glance at the rest of the group. “Vaehirn Adreon, high priest of Mannovai,” he said, by way of explanation. “It’s an honor, sir.”

Adreon dipped his head. “Thank you, Councilor. My honored sister regrets she couldn’t be here tonight, but sends her regards.”

“Your sister?” Liara asked. “You mean the dalatrass?”

One membrane twitched. “Yes. She had other business to attend to, unfortunately.”

“What business do you have with the ambassador, Adreon?” Liara asked, folding her arms across her chest and tilting her head in that adorable way she had.

He shrugged. “I used to work with his younger brother. I was merely asking if he could share any news.”

Tollak smiled. “He got a job working at a university on Palaven, and there’s a wedding planned for him and his two partners.”

Shepard blinked. “Well, congratulations to him.”

Adreon bobbed his head. “I was asking the ambassador to send my regards. At my age, just going to the Citadel is an endeavor. A trip to a hazardous planet like Palaven would likely kill me. I may be able to send a nephew in my stead, but that would be as much as I can do.”

Tollak nodded respectfully. “I’ll be sure to pass the word along. I’m sure Ax will understand.”

The turians all picked their heads up then, responding to something Shepard couldn’t hear. Barely a heartbeat later, Tollak’s head sank into his cowl. “Oh, dear,” he mumbled.

“Incoming,” Sparatus said idly, looking at something over Shepard’s shoulder.

Just as she was turning around, she was blasted in the face by a ferocious bellow. _“You!”_ roared a willowy, soot-gray crestless turian, jabbing her in the chest with a wicked talon.

Almost immediately, there was a hand on Shepard's arm, gently drawing her back. “Cor, _please_ ,” Tollak pleaded, “you’re being very loud.”

“I don’t _care!”_ the turian howled.

Tollak, now beside Shepard, winced. “Commander Shepard, this is, ah… This is my wife, Coren Madelivio,” he said, a bit meekly if you asked Shepard. “She’s… She’s a marine biologist.”

Immediately, everything clicked in Shepard’s head. “Is this about the sushi place? Because-”

_“Of course it is!”_ Coren shrieked, mandibles flaring down and out as far as they went. “Do you have any _idea_ how many species of fish were in that tank!? Not even _counting_ the coral and marine plants keeping the animals healthy!”

Shepard raised her hands in a gesture she sincerely hoped could be read as “placating” by turians. “In my defense, the tank was shot out from under me, I just happened to be standing on it when they went after me.”

“That’s not the _point!”_

Tollak coughed into his fist. “I think it’s a reasonable defense, Cor-”

“Don’t you get all legal on _me_ , Tollak Madelivio,” Coren warned, turning to level a claw at his nose.

He shook his head, clicked his mandibles, and insisted, “Cor, it’s been _three years_. Don’t you think-”

“Tollak, you know how I feel about these things!” she said, snapping her mandibles tight against her face.

While Coren was distracted, Shepard backed away, towards safety. “Did you know anything about this?” she muttered to Liara, who cracked a small smile.

“My agents warned me the ambassador’s wife might have a bone to pick with you after the CAT6 incident,” she murmured back, “though I’d hoped she might have settled down after so much time.”

“Surprise,” Garrus said dryly, turning his head to watch Valern and Sparatus signing at each other before carefully leaving, the councilor’s wife and the high priest hot on their heels. Apparently they weren’t keen on dealing with a furious fish nerd, either. “Think we should leave them to it, or..?”

“She’d just track her down again,” Liara said, in a voice that could have been either concerned or amused.

Shepard swallowed, tensing as Coren turned towards her again. As she strode forward, Tollak at her heels, Shepard felt her stomach drop to somewhere around her knees, then all the way into her heels as Coren jabbed a talon at her so hard she was surprised her sternum didn’t break right then and there. “Now, you listen to me,” she hissed. “There were _eighty-three_ fish in that tank, from _seventeen_ separate species, along with six kinds of coral and twenty-four species of marine plant. I’m willing to let them slide _if and only if_ you provide the _exact same species_ , in the same quantities, to the Imperial Oceanarium in Cipritine, where they’ll be well cared-for and _safe from weirdo human espionage plots.”_

Shepard nodded quickly, raising her right hand. “Donate fish. Got it. Will do, ma’am.”

Coren growled and withdrew, apparently satisfied, and looked at Tollak as she folded her arms. “I’m going to check on Aelan. Could you get me a drink?”

He nodded patiently. “Of course, dear.”

She snorted and stalked off, and Tollak sighed. “Very sorry about her,” he said to Shepard, flicking one mandible. “She gets… _touchy_ about aquatic stuff. She doesn’t even like _eating_ fish, not even ones caught fresh from the wild. My mother’s side of the family is from a country that eats fish on the regular, so you can imagine how tense family reunions can be.”

Shepard waved a hand. “She’s not the first to get mad at me over some fishy collateral damage.” She paused to let Liara and Garrus finish groaning, then added, “She’s just the first to get all shouty about it. No hard feelings.”

Tollak’s mandibles quirked up in an adorably relieved smile. “Oh, I’m glad,” he enthused. “I know she can get kind of pushy and loud, my mother gets the same way, and so does my sister-in-law-to-be, I think it might just be a thing for crestless maybe? She really loves fish, and…”

He continued talking, and Shepard listened patiently, being sure to inject noises of understanding or agreement when called for. He seemed sweet, and genuinely distressed over his wife bothering her, she’d hate to make him feel like a pest.

When Tollak was finally called away by a returning Coren, Shepard thanked him for his time and conversation, then turned back to Liara and Garrus, hands on her hips. “Well! He seemed nice.”

Garrus bobbed his head. “I know Tollak. Went to school with him when we were kids. Used to be real shy. His little brother used to beat kids up for picking on him. Glad to see he’s opened up.”

Liara smiled. “I’ve heard he’s in line for the Council seat, once Sparatus retires.”

“Really?” Shepard asked, beaming. “Good for him! Seems like he’ll at least be less of a grouch.”

“Don’t count on it,” Garrus said dryly. “You’ve met old people of my kind, we get grumpy with age.” He fluttered his mandibles in amusement. “You should count yourself lucky you broke that tank when you did. If the Reapers had just waited a few more decades, you probably would’ve come within a breath of getting your gizzard ripped out through your throat.”

“I’m, like, ninety-two-percent certain humans don’t have those.”

“She would’ve found one, trust me.”


End file.
